See the Sun
by Meridas
Summary: How can anyone possibly fix everything that was said and done between them in those few short hours? An indefinite suspension surely gives enough time to try.
1. Clocks

He wasn't counting the days that passed. Nor the hours. It was pointless, counting, because every hour felt like a decade anyway, so as far as he was concerned, the clocks were all wrong. The only use for the damned things was the sound. The ticking of the clocks was the only noise coming from his flat except his own breathing — and he didn't want to listen to that. Noises from the outside didn't quite register, like they weren't close enough, despite being only a few meters away.

Perhaps that was why the knocking had to be so insistent. Although, Ianto thought wryly, it could also just be Captain Jack Harkness' way of doing things.

Ianto considered leaving him standing there, but realized that his boss had a key — ostensibly for emergencies, but Jack was a bastard at the best of times. The next thought process involved yanking the damn door open and demanding of Jack what in the hell he wanted — but that one, as satisfying as it sounded in Ianto's head, probably wouldn't faze the Captain nearly enough to make the energy worth it. Ianto hadn't slept in however long it had been since he stopped counting; in fact he couldn't recall doing much of anything since he'd come back to his flat.

He hadn't seen the point of doing much. Anyway, he knew what Jack was here for. He'd changed his mind, inevitably. Ianto glared around his haphazard flat. Finally the cleaning up would be someone else's damn job.

No use in delaying it, and that infernal knocking wasn't going to stop. With a sigh, he levered himself upright and stumbled toward the door.

Jack's hair was dripping, pushed back off his forehead. Ianto should have expected that: all he'd been doing was listening to the rain and the clocks.

"What do you want?" Ianto asked quietly, stepping aside to let Jack inside. His voice sounded hoarse even to his own ears.

Jack held up a plastic take-away bag. A frown etched itself into Ianto's forehead, and he simply looked at his boss for a moment.

Jack shot him a look. "You gonna stand there all night?"

Ianto looked at him oddly. "Just seems a bit of a strange thing to do for someone before you kill them," he said cynically. "Unless this is supposed to be the last meal, in which case it's not what I'd have chosen…"

"I wasn't planning on killing you, actually," Jack denied calmly. "I kind of doubted that you'd bothered to eat anything yet, that's all."

_That's all?_ Ianto stared at Jack as he moved around the flat as if he'd been there a million times. "What are you doing here?" he demanded flatly. "If you haven't changed your mind about killing me, I don't understand why you're here. Because this isn't about… takeaway, and me, and… what happened. We've covered that." He was proud that his voice remained steady. He had that, at least, even after everything else had fallen out from under him.

Jack thumped a plate of food down in front of the empty chair at his kitchen bar. Just the movement constituted an order. In his own home, with the anger and unsaid words so close to the surface, Ianto considered ignoring him; but he was so tired, and it wasn't worth it if Jack might possibly give him a few truthful answers tonight. Unless, of course, this was as surreal as it felt, and Ianto was going to wake up very confused. A pang went through him as his mind wandered a little further, wondering if he could wake up and find that it had all been a nightmare, that Lisa would be alive and there was still a chance to save her, and no-one would be hurt…

A glass of water appeared under his nose. Ianto blinked, realizing that he'd sat down without even thinking. Unconsciously obeying Jack's unspoken orders. He scowled.

"Believe it or not, this is about you," Jack said. "I don't normally say this, but you were right. I don't know anything about you. I should not have missed something like this; I wish you had felt that you could trust me enough to tell me about her, to let me help you."

Ianto poked at the food in front of him. "Alright. But that doesn't account for why you're here. Unless you want to make extra sure the retcon takes."

Jack sighed. "No, I don't want to need the retcon. That's the point. I'm just here to talk to you, Ianto. I want to fix this," he admitted.

Ianto wasn't sure whether he wanted to laugh or cry, and knew if he started either he'd end up a hysterical mess. So he simply looked away from Jack, and ate his food without tasting it, and didn't say a word.

* * *

_AN: this is the first of a few ideas I had about conversations the show skipped over during Ianto's suspension. Feel free to let me know what you think of it, while I'm still wondering if the others are worth posting. The title comes from Dido's song 'See the Sun' - I listened to it and couldn't shake the feeling that it fit so well, and I like it better than the original title. I highly recommend the song to anyone who's interested._


	2. Ghosts

Jack knocked on the door, making an effort to be a little quieter than usual — it was late, after all, and it wouldn't do to wake nosy neighbors. He considered that Ianto might be asleep, too; but then the door opened with a soft click, and Ianto had already turned his back. Jack closed the door behind him and made for the kitchen, dumping the latest load of groceries on the counter. This routine annoyed him a bit, but he had made a decision and he was nothing if not persistent. Besides, Ianto had done this for the team for months without a single thank-you; Jack could do the same for a week or so.

This was his fourth visit, the second week of Ianto's indefinite suspension. After that first night, Ianto hadn't said a word to him. The kid had barely looked at him, in fact; mostly he'd sat there and waited for Jack to leave. Even now, Ianto had returned to the couch and resumed reading a thick, well-worn book.

Jack sighed. Frankly, he knew that he deserved a lot worse than being ignored. He wouldn't have been even slightly surprised if Ianto had taken another swing at him. That would have been easier, he thought ruefully — nothing like a good fight to get something out of your system. But instead, he was being totally ignored by Torchwood's resident ghost: and he was hating it.

Part of him didn't want to be the one to speak first. Their last two visits had passed in complete silence, stuck in a battle of wills to see who would break first. But now, Jack realized that it was the wrong approach with Ianto. It would work with Owen or Gwen — they'd both be squirming at this unprecedented extended silence from the Captain. But Ianto, somewhat like Toshiko, didn't feel the need to speak. If he was testing Jack, it wasn't to see how long he could stay quiet: it was to see how long he would play this little game without realizing it.

So Jack started talking. Anything that came to mind: local news, the weather, innocent stuff at first — and inevitably, after helping himself to a glass of water and a seat, Jack began amusing himself with old stories. He stayed away from the jokes, knowing this wasn't the time, but found himself straying into nostalgia. Maybe it was the few pictures on Ianto's bookcase that he kept staring at: just a very few pictures that included Lisa, some old friends, reminders of what had been lost at Canary Wharf. Jack wondered if Ianto had put them up for himself or for Jack. He sighed and rose to his feet, indulging in a closer look.

"You know, I knew this girl," he murmured, "a long time ago…" He laughed softly. "Gwen reminds me of her, a little. Just the way she didn't take no for an answer. Always looking for the next adventure. Always excited, like a kid in a candy store sometimes; except she saw so much deeper than most. Saw me, even… saw someone I could be, not the person I had to be…" He sighed, his gaze drifting over to Ianto. The young man had barely moved over the course of two hours, only turning the pages of his book; but now his hands had gone still, and Jack noticed his eyes had closed.

Jack had fallen silent, just watching him, and after a moment Ianto blinked his eyes open and glanced at Jack. "She sounds lovely," he murmured, barely audible.

Jack slid his hands into his pockets. "Yeah, she was," he said with a sigh. "I haven't seen her in a long time… never will, now." He gazed toward the windows, the stars he knew were there behind the curtains. "I found her name on the list of the dead."

Ianto didn't have to ask which list. He closed his eyes again. "So you have loved someone."

Jack looked down at him again. "And I've lost them," he replied quietly.

Ianto didn't respond again, and Jack let out a breath, willing the ghosts away, old and new. He looked around at the closed blinds and the fastidiously clean flat. "Um… you don't have to stay here, you know," he said slowly. "I mean, if you become a security threat — start talking about Torchwood or do a runner — I'll have to give you the amnesia pill, but this is a work suspension, not house arrest. You don't have to stay in here."

Ianto shot a cynical eyebrow in his direction. "What is there for me anywhere else?"

Jack blinked at him. For a long while they were quiet again. Jack went to the windows, opened the blinds, and stood there looking out at the view of the city.

Finally Ianto broke the silence with a question Jack had been expecting since his first visit.

"Why haven't you killed me?"

"Do you want to die?" Jack replied. He already knew the answer. If Ianto had wanted that, they wouldn't be having this conversation now... with or without the Captain's cooperation.

Ianto looked at him for a long moment without meeting his eyes. Finally he muttered, "Don't think I'm brave enough to do it myself."

Jack raised his eyebrows. "Maybe you're brave enough not to," he countered.

Ianto shot him a skeptical look.

"I'm serious," Jack insisted, leaning back against the wall. "You die for a cause, for something you believe in, to save somebody — that's brave. You die because you can't or won't deal with life, that's running away." He paused, fighting down dark memories. He was, after all, an expert at running away. Not _the _expert, but pretty god damned close.

Jack inhaled sharply and looked back up at his youngest employee, his most recent failing. "I admit you've got too many reasons to want the easy way out," he said slowly. "But there are lots of reasons to hang in there, if you're willing to look past how dark everything seems right now."

Ianto made a noise in the back of his throat. "Did you get that from a book, sir?"

Jack refused to rise to the bait. "No, actually, that was something that I had to learn the hard way."

Ianto nodded very slightly. "The hard way, indeed."

And then they were silent again.

* * *

_AN: Thanks so much for the response, you guys! Coffee for everyone who reviewed ;)_

_If there's anyone who'd be willing to beta for these few conversations, or at least let me bounce some ideas around, please PM me. I've never done a progressive Jack and Ianto story like this and I'd appreciate some insight. Thanks!_


	3. Touch

The first time Jack broached the topic of Torchwood, it was well into the third week of Ianto's suspension. There had been no time limit named when Jack had handed out the punishment, and they had steered clear of it during these visits. For his part, Ianto still barely believed he wouldn't be forced to forget it all, so he didn't ask. That wasn't part of the pattern they had developed, anyway. They didn't begin with questions.

He wasn't sure what made Jack start filling him in on the developments he was missing at the Hub. But he listened as Jack told him about the latest interesting Rift flotsam, the team's antics, and their most recent investigation.

"So Toshiko reckons they're just lost, but we can't get it across that they're a few planets off," the Captain said as Ianto handed him a cup of coffee. Jack grinned at him and took a long drink. "Ah, now that I have missed. Tosh tried her hand at making coffee and we had to evacuate the Hub."

Ianto raised an eyebrow, wondering as always how much of Jack's retelling was embellished. "I hope the poor machine remains undamaged," was all he said.

"Oh, it's fine," Jack snorted. "Poor machine indeed. I think the vindictive little bastard is pining for you just as much as Myfanwy."

Ianto couldn't help the snort of laughter that escaped him. Jack smiled back at him, a flicker of something hopeful in his blue eyes.

"That dinosaur is the most underused and spoiled guard dog in the world," Ianto muttered into his coffee. "And the machine is not at all difficult." He knew he'd read something about the alien tourists Jack couldn't give directions to at the moment. T'caerrans… he was sure there was a good-sized file on them in the Archives. Might have some previous studies on their language… Ianto reached for something to write on, thinking Toshiko could pull the file without too much trouble if he wrote the number and location down for her.

Meanwhile, Jack arched his eyebrows in disbelief. "One of the most brilliant technical geniuses in the universe isn't able to work it, Ianto. It's weird." He gazed at Ianto over the top of his own mug for a moment. "You should teach her how it does work sometime. I caught her glaring at it the other day like it was a personal vendetta."

Ianto's hand paused in reaching toward a pen. He was aware of Jack watching him closely, and controlled his features as he printed the file name carefully on a sticky-note.

"You should tell Tosh to look up this file," he murmured. "Past encounters with the T'caerran species, it may help her with her translations and communicating with them."

"Thanks," Jack responded, folding the note carefully and squirreling it away in a pocket. Ianto tried not to eye him doubtfully, thinking of all the spare change and bits of paper the cleaners had handed him out of Jack's pockets before. "How do you remember all of that?" the Captain asked him curiously.

Ianto sighed internally, and gave a small shrug. "Eidetic memory," he muttered, adding to himself that obviously Jack didn't have it, or he'd recall that little fact from pulling Ianto's Torchwood One file.

Jack's eyebrows went up. "I should've guessed. That's pretty impressive. Has it always been like that?"

Ianto gave a small shrug. "Yes. Not always a good thing, but yes. Reason Torchwood One recruited me for the archiving team, I think." He tapped one finger idly against the side of his empty coffee mug.

Jack leaned forward on his elbows. "Did you change your personnel file? Because with everything that you've done for our archives with, what, six months, it seems crazy that you were a junior researcher for two years in London."

"Are you knocking my old job, sir?" Ianto quirked a small smile at him. "I didn't change my file. I was working under the Head Archivist, scheduled to take on the job when he retired." Geoffrey Miller had been a brilliant man, a former professor, and patient with anyone who wanted to learn. He'd taken Ianto under his wing and encouraged him to read everything he could lay hands on, not just the investigations and filing he was assigned to. Two years hadn't been nearly enough to make a dent in the vast collection of knowledge Torchwood One had had filed neatly away. He'd been strangely thrilled at the prospect of having his whole life to devote to such a project. But it was all lost now.

"I'm sorry." Ianto looked up at Jack, and realized that he'd voiced his last thought aloud. Jack's stormy blue eyes held his gaze with Jack's unique intensity. "I don't think I said it before," the Captain added quietly. "But everything you've been through…" He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "And I've done nothing to make it right. Sometimes I think I'm only capable of finding broken people, and incapable of fixing them no matter how much I intended to." He sighed again, looking back up at Ianto with an exhaustion in his eyes that had nothing to do with how little the man seemed to sleep. "But I am sorry, Ianto." His hand, lying on the counter between their cups, moved to brush the back of Ianto's.

Without thinking, Ianto jerked away. Jack immediately sat back, eyes surprised and wary.

"Sorry," Ianto muttered. He should put his hands back on the table, reassure his boss that he was fine and continue listening. Wasn't that their new game? They talked about whatever they wanted, beginning out of the blue, without segue or introduction. One of them would simply start to talk, and one of them would listen. They had both revealed more tiny pieces of their lives in three weeks' worth of visits than they had during six months' worth of working together. There was no real rhyme or reason to it, no puzzle they were putting together. They still didn't know each other. Ianto had doubted not a few times whether they ever really could know each other.

So why should Jack know that he wasn't fine? If Ianto simply put his hands back on the table, the incident need never have happened. They could forget the whole thing. He could forget the way his skin felt like he'd brushed an open flame instead of another human being.

Right?

Jack was still staring at him. Ianto picked up his empty cup and took it to the sink.

"No, I apologize," Jack said slowly, watching him closely. Ianto refused to look at him, even when he heard the soft scrape of chair legs sliding back. Jack's voice came from behind him when he said, "Ianto… when was the last time someone touched you… kindly?"

Ianto focused on his hands, soap and hot water and the washcloth. "Not sure what you mean, sir."

"You know full well," Jack muttered.

Ianto ignored him.

"Ianto, look at me."

Well, damn.

Ianto set aside his props and faced Jack squarely. The Captain stood less than an arm's length away, his hand raised in a gesture that might be used to calm a startled animal. Ianto raised an eyebrow; but as Jack's eyes probed his and his hand moved slowly towards him, Ianto snapped out, "Don't."

Jack paused — then he let his hand drop.

* * *

_AN: Sorry this took so long to post. I had a tough time deciding between two very different versions of this section — let me know what you think of this, if I made the right choice. Possibly just one more to go in this little series. Thanks a million to everybody who reviewed, even if you were anonymous__**. **_

_Also: as a reviewer pointed out to me, the ending of this conversation makes a little more sense alongside another story of mine; the connection was clearer in my head, so sorry for any confusion. There's another one-shot titled "His Decisions" which delves a little deeper into this idea._

* * *

_Funny thing, writing this as "Cause everyone's forgiven now" plays on the radio… __(For anyone who's interested, it was completely unintended, but the song is "Better Days" by the Goo Goo Dolls, who, despite the name, are fantastic. The song doesn't have anything to do with the creation this fic, but it does sound good, and if nothing else here's your daily musical coincidence and randomness.)_


	4. Love

As Ianto handed Jack his coffee across the kitchen bar, he could tell that the young man had something on his mind. A small frown betrayed his usual mask; however, Jack knew better than to poke at those cracks. Over the past four weeks, he had slowly begun to regain Ianto's trust, and the last thing he wanted was to put that in jeopardy. If Jack was the one who could answer whatever was plaguing the young man, Ianto would ask him, in his own time.

Finally he breathed deeply and said quietly, "You've loved and lost. How do you… how do you bear it, every day for the rest of your life?"

"You don't seem to be doing so badly," Jack hedged, looking around the flat as he gathered his thoughts. The younger man been reading again, watching some old films from the looks of it — and a leather-bound journal lay on the coffee table, a pen tucked into its pages.

Ianto managed to make a breath sound like a scoff of disbelief. "Continuing to exist isn't the same as moving on, sir."

Jack folded his hands around his mug as he contemplated his answer. He wasn't sure whether he was the best or the worst person to be giving this advice; at any rate, he didn't think it would be good for either of them if he offered his own standard remedy of cut your losses and head for the hills with a new identity. He wondered idly if that had ever occurred to Ianto — and if so, why the younger man had decided to stay.

"Sometimes, continuing to exist is all that you can do," he said slowly. He looked up to meet Ianto's eyes as he added, "But eventually, you'll find that you've been continuing to _live_, not just exist." He took a deeper breath, and hoped he wasn't making a mistake. "Your life doesn't end with her," he stated as gently as possible, "though I know that it may seem that way. But if it had, we wouldn't be having this conversation. And I know that you have more regrets than losing her," he pressed, leaning forward to hold those blue eyes. "I know that everything that happened that day has been eating at you as much as the sheer agony of the fact that she's not in the world anymore. But you are still here, Ianto, and that means that one half of those regrets can still be fixed."

Jack sighed, and lowered his eyes. He pinched the bridge of his nose, resting his forehead on his hand. "What do I know," he murmured, half to himself. "Love's different for everybody."

"It is kind of a funny thing that way," Ianto murmured. His elegant fingers circled each other idly on the countertop, and Jack found himself mildly entranced by the young man's hands. "In all sorts of ways. Even working for Torchwood…" He fidgeted minutely in his seat, frowning slightly at his hands; Jack waited, realizing that this was probably something Ianto had been musing over for a long time. The young man continued, steadily but with a quiet hesitation, as if he were still thinking things through as he spoke. "When it's you in danger, knowing someone loves you can make you stronger. But then when it's them in danger, it makes you vulnerable."

"It can also give you the strength to save them," Jack pointed out.

"The blind strength," Ianto replied tiredly. "The blind hope. I don't know, Jack. I — I don't regret loving Lisa… not at all…" his blue eyes closed, bright spots fading into his pale face. "It didn't make me strong, though, in the end. It only made me vulnerable — susceptible. I couldn't think logically… not enough. She knew how to set it all up, she knew so much more than I did, so I — I came to accept her word on things. I couldn't separate my Lisa from the Cyberman, because I wanted to believe that it was still just her. I could see it corrupting her, sometimes, but I made excuses… and I didn't realize that it was corrupting me, too." He leaned his head into his hands, long fingers winding through his dark hair. "I couldn't give up on her, Jack. I'm sorry, but I couldn't. I loved her."

Jack swallowed briefly. "I know, Ianto," he murmured. "I know… and that's part of the reason why I don't want to let you go. You have an incredible capacity for loyalty — you would have moved heaven and earth for Lisa. And quite frankly, I really need even a fraction of that."

Ianto looked askance at him. "But… I betrayed you." He winced slightly at the words, and Jack seized on that.

"Yeah, and that kind of pissed me off" — understatement of the decade — "but I do understand why." He paused, collecting his thoughts. "I've done things just as dangerous for the same reasons, and also for much less — in all honesty, Ianto, I was in a similar situation once; except I was far more selfish, and far less careful. And then I met someone who made me a better person, gave me a purpose." He leaned forward, making sure he had Ianto's full attention. "You're a much better man than I was, Ianto Jones. But I can give you a purpose again. If you'll let me."

Blue eyes locked on blue for what seemed to be eternity. A clock ticked somewhere, not announcing the passing of seconds but trapping Jack in the tick, tick, tick, unblinking blue eyes. Eyes which had teased him, appraised him, accused him. Eyes which had always had the shutters closed, hiding everything that mattered. Eyes which had stared into his with rage and fire that Jack had never even guessed was there. Apparently, everything had to fall to hell before Ianto Jones would express anything real.

Jack wanted to change that. He'd neglected the young man, ignored him as a teammate and a human being, and that was inexcusable. He needed to make things right with Ianto. And he wanted to. He genuinely wanted to know the young man, and he needed the trust they'd once had. He'd been serious when he'd told Ianto that he needed his loyalty — but after everything that had happened, he was no longer sure that he could have it… or even that he deserved it.

Ianto was quiet. Jack sighed silently and stood up. "Think about it," he said softly, "please." Ianto looked up at him, and Jack gave him a small smile. "Thanks for the coffee."

* * *

_AN: okay, I might have lied when I said this was the last one. Depends on the reaction, I guess. However, this might well be the end. Thanks so much for sticking around, especially you lovely people who reviewed. Seriously, thanks. See ya next time._


	5. After

Once upon a time, Ianto Jones might have been happy. He remembered instances of being happy. He remembered what it felt like, at least, so surely at some point he must have been happy. He wondered if memories could fade, like photographs and pages, if you flipped through them too often. Then he shrugged. Fading with time and overuse was probably something he didn't have to worry about.

This wasn't any kind of happily ever after. It was just… after. After everything else was gone, this was what was left. Lying flat on his back on his couch, staring out the window without seeing it, because he was only seeing memories. Except for when the memories stopped for brief moments, and then all he was looking at was darkness.

_There are lots of reasons to hang in there, if you're willing to look past how dark everything seems right now._

Looking past it was so hard, though. It was so much easier to remember what had come before this, than to consider what might, what could come after.

Ianto blinked slowly in the darkness of his empty flat. Dark after Jack had left and the sun had gone down. This was what his life had become after the apocalypse had come to Canary Wharf, after catastrophe had come to the Hub, after Lisa had gone and the world Ianto knew had collapsed with her.

After Jack had leveled a gun at his head. After the gun had been removed, and replaced with silence. After the silence — filled so easily with that damn feeling, like there were little tiny rats chewing away at him — had been replaced with a steady, familiar voice. Still no promises, no moving forward. No what comes after this; just that this is after that.

Until tonight.

Ianto sat up, releasing a pent-up breath. He pressed the heels of his hands against his forehead, trying desperately to collect his scrambled, drifting thoughts. He'd been drifting for nearly a month now, caught between before and after. Until Jack had come back and shown him the light at the end of the tunnel, and promised it wasn't the oncoming train. He wasn't making any illusions of offering a happily ever after — Torchwood didn't get those. But, really, it was all he had left.

With a soft sigh into the empty room, Ianto lowered his hands. All Jack was offering him was a chance — a purpose, in his words. Torchwood. Jack. The team. After everything that had happened, it was all Ianto had left. It was, at the very least, a purpose.

There was Myfanwy, he realized as an afterthought, with a tiny lift in his soul. If he could find one happy memory associated purely with Torchwood Three, then maybe there were more. Maybe there could be more.

Ianto stood up, turning full circle as he surveyed his flat. There was no point in him being here — there was no purpose here. This was the place he'd drifted.

Jack was what he had left, now. It couldn't hurt to give him a chance, if he was willing to do the same for Ianto.

A blur of familiarity and sudden, unexpected cabin fever saw him reaching for an ill-disguised button behind a dusty counter before he'd bothered to check the time. He hesitated slightly — but the wall clicked open, and he was here already and not tired, and in a month surely there was only too much work to get caught up on. Finding that his keys still worked and the cog wheel rolled back for him removed the final barrier, and with a tiny shrug, Ianto Jones resumed his work at Torchwood Three.

There was, if he wasn't mistaken, the entire month's worth of reports and accumulated paraphernalia cluttering every available surface. In the dim lighting of the sleeping Hub, Ianto began to catch up on what he'd missed while sorting it all into a less daunting state of quasi-order, all the while keeping an eye on a program Toshiko seemed to have left running overnight. The weather patters she was tracking looked remarkably different than the news forecast, and erratic as well. Aliens living in thunderstorms, perhaps… wouldn't be the first time…

As Ianto unearthed yet another file and flipped it open to see what it entailed, a familiar but unexpected voice called out from Jack's office. "You shouldn't be here."

Ianto looked up, startled but honestly not surprised to see the Captain standing there in a white t-shirt, braces hanging loose and boots missing, his hair rumpled with sleep and a small 'I knew it' expression totally lacking in smugness on his features.

"Neither should you," he replied quietly, gesturing with the folder. Their eyes met, and then Jack's eyebrows quirked almost imperceptibly, and Ianto turned back toward the computer, biting his lip. He probably shouldn't have said that out loud — but really, they were both right. And yet, being here was the only thing either of them had to do.

A warm, solid hand fell on Ianto's shoulder. Without thinking, he glanced at it, then up at its owner, then back at the computer. Jack's hand slid lightly across his shoulder blade as he asked casually, "What d'you got?"

Ianto took in a deep breath and then let it out, trying hard to ignore the hand as it patted his back once before disappearing. "Funny sort of weather patterns," he reported, because what else could he say? He glanced at Jack, noting the lines on his face, thrown into sharp relief in the dim blue lighting of the Hub. Ianto looked back at the computer, unsure of what he was supposed to say next.

As it turned out, though, they didn't exchange many words at all. The Hub lights flickered on in preparation for the start of the workday, and Jack returned to his office to find a shirt. But occasionally, throughout the day, Ianto would catch Jack looking at him, that tiny 'I knew it' smile in his eyes. Ianto didn't comment on it — he simply handed Jack his coffee, went about his job, quietly folding himself back into the seams of Torchwood Three.

It was as close to "thank you" as they were going to get.

* * *

_Author's note: And that, ladies and gentlemen and aliens, really does conclude this story. There are, of course, many other nooks and crannies of Ianto Jones to explore, especially when Jack is concerned - but suspension is over now. (However, there is a one-shot, titled 'His Decisions', which directly follows the episode I've left this story at. Feel free to check that out if you haven't already.)_

_Thank you guys so much for your encouragement throughout this little story. See ya next time. _


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